


Crimson Euphoria

by iopeneditbeforechristmas



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Childhood, F/M, Fluff, Friendship, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-29
Updated: 2015-03-29
Packaged: 2018-03-20 07:19:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,045
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3641523
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/iopeneditbeforechristmas/pseuds/iopeneditbeforechristmas
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Eren didn't know what to call their relationship, but if it had a colour, it would be red.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Crimson Euphoria

The first time Eren saw Mikasa Ackerman, he didn’t like her one bit. He was walking home from school, backpack swinging from one shoulder and strolling down the pavement with all the confidence and self-assurance of a nine-year-old who doesn’t yet know anything about the world. It was a nice day, the sort of mellow weather that bridges the gap between winter and spring. A little bit of both, a faint trace of bite in the wind and the whisper of warmer days on the horizon. Eren liked those kinds of days the best. He was planning on going to the abandoned treehouse next door with Armin after he’d finished his homework.

He arrived home quickly, mangling the tune to a song he’d heard on the radio. As he reached the corner of his road, he saw something that made his blood run cold. The house next door was no longer empty; a steady stream of burly men in overalls were hefting furniture over their heads and carrying it inside. There was a little girl with black hair standing in the small garden, smiling shyly at passing neighbours.

“Eren!” Carla Jaeger called, running out of her house. Her flowered apron swayed slightly in the breeze, “There you are!”

“Sorry,” he muttered. He didn’t like apologising. It made you look stupid, “I stayed back for a bit to help Armin.”

Carla chuckled, “Your ears have gone red, you goose, I know you’re lying. Anyway, that’s not why I wanted to find you. I promised Mrs Ackerman I’d introduce you.”

She tried to lead Eren towards the house. He resisted, digging his heels in and pouting.

“But Mu-um, I wanted to go to the treehouse with Armin!”

Carla laughed again, though this time it was tinged with a little bit of pity or sadness or whatever it is that comes in between, “Oh sweetie, you can’t. They took down the treehouse earlier today. See?”

She pointed Eren towards a bundle of moss-eaten wood and corrugated iron, lying forlornly on the side of the pavement as the sun beat down. Eren stared at them for a couple of minutes, before his hands curled into fists. For the longest time he tried to think of something coherent to say, but all he could do was scream through gritted teeth and storm inside. As he did so, he caught a glimpse of the little girl, tilting her head and looking at him with dark eyes a thousand times deeper than any other eyes Eren had seen. They said she knew.

* * *

That night, Eren lay in his bed, curled up on his side and glaring out of his window. Usually, he’d have been able to catch a glimpse of the treehouse in the corner of his garden, bits of rough, jagged wood jutting out over the feeble fence that was all that separated him from the girl next door. He wished it was a thousand times thicker, a canyon or an ocean or a steel wall, anything impassable that meant he didn’t have to see her again. He hated her, despised her in the way that only children can; shallow and selfish and strong. It was a bright hatred, irrational and illogical but stemming from the irrefutable belief, in Eren’s childish mind, that it was all her fault.

Eren didn’t realise it then – and wouldn’t for a long time – but there was something else beneath the hatred. Something warmer, but sharper too. It was painful in its complexity, but so small and so malnourished that he didn’t even notice when it was buried beneath a pile of annoyance and frustration, a subconscious attempt to smother it before it grew, kill it in its infancy.

Eren didn’t know it, but he was nine years old and in love with a girl. 

* * *

The next morning dawned, and Eren woke up without feeling anything. It was a moment saturated with chance and destiny and Eren would wonder for a long while which one was responsible. A roll of a dice or a string of cards lined up beside his future? As it was, this morning he turned over and looked outside the window. Had he just got out of bed, dressed and changed and run out of the house with a quick hug for his mother like normal, Eren would no doubt have forgotten all about yesterday and greeted the girl from next door with a friendly smile and childish delight at the opportunity to make new friends. Instead, all he did was cement the burning anger – and everything it was trying to hide – deep in his stomach. There would be no making friends with her, not for a long time.

Eren was a choleric child, prone to angry outbursts and fits of rage. These built up fairly quickly, simmering away, reached their climax in a supernova of fury and then dissipated, fading away like an April shower. The most notable thing about them was that they just did not last. Eren’s parents knew this, and this was what they expected when Eren came down to breakfast.

“Do you think you’d be able to walk Mikasa to school?” Carla asked, “She doesn’t know the way yet and it would be nice if you could show her around.”

“Who’s Mikasa?” Eren muttered, buttering a piece of toast as thought it had caused him personal offence.

“Mikasa Ackerman; she’s the girl from next door. She’s a nice girl, but quiet. That’s why I thought it would be good if you could give her a hand around school.”

Eren gripped the knife in his hand harder, “No,” he snapped, “I can’t. And I’m going to school.”

He picked up his schoolbag and slung it over one shoulder, storming out of the house and slamming the door behind him. It shut with a bang. Carla stared after him in shock, debating whether or not to call her son back and scold him til kingdom come. It was not from his father that he had inherited his rage. She decided against it. For Eren to be this cross still meant that there was something special about Mikasa Ackerman. Something very special indeed.

* * *

Eren purposely ignored Mikasa during school. She had given him several curious glances throughout the day, each one filled with more hurt and offence as the day wore on. He'd always wanted a best friend next door, despite the danger of the treehouse being destroyed if that happened. Armin lived in the same estate, but it just wasn't the same as somebody in the house beside him. They could be friends, throw paper aeroplanes through windows and walk to school together. It would be just like in the storybooks. 

Now he had the opportunity for somebody like that, and Eren threw it away. He had a slight inkling of what he was doing and what he would miss, but Eren never really thought about anything until after he did it. Besides, this was now a matter of pride. He could not back down, could not give in. Whether Mikasa had a hand in the murder of the treehouse or not, she was complicit in the crime and he would treat her as such. 

Eren Jaeger did not back down.

* * *

The first time Eren talked to Mikasa Ackerman, he crashed his bike. When he told the story at the lunch table the next day, whispering to his friends and stealing side-ways glances at Mikasa, sitting with Krista and Ymir and Sasha - for they were still at the stage where girls and boys are completely different species to each other, to be scoffed at or to admire or to be covertly liked, but never to talk to except in stutters and blushes and always for your friend - Jean suggested that it was because he was too busy staring at her. Everyone knew Jean liked Mikasa, but nobody knew whether she liked him back and it was the most entertainment a group of nine-year-olds could have.

But Eren was certain that  _he_ did not like Mikasa, not at all, not like that. They were friends now, maybe, sort of, he wanted to be, but he didn't  _like_ her. And the reason he crashed his bike was very different.

He was cycling home from school, because he was ten years old and got a bike for his birthday and was  _finally_  allowed to use it. It was a shiny red, with a bell that could be heard three streets away and six gears and Eren treasured it above all else. The day was warm, summer gradually creeping in. He could hear birds singing in the trees overhead and joined in, though he was singing American Idiot and they were chirping to whatever tune it is birds listen to. It was a nice day. Just like the one on which he had first seen Mikasa, months before that. 

The events of the crash were always slightly vague, but Mikasa would later tell Eren that he got distracted looking at the boxes outside her house and crashed into a tree. Eren knew that whatever it was, it had to do with the treehouse. 

The boxes in question were large, three in number and emblazoned with the emblem of the garden centre down the road. And, written on them quite clearly, Eren could see the words  _Treehouse Deluxe, suitable for ages seven and up._ He saw red; quite literally, the frame of the bike flipping upwards as he braked hard and sending him flying into the big sycamore that stood proudly at the front of his garden. He sat up, dazed and so,  _so_ angry. She was building a new treehouse. She'd taken down the old one,  _his_ old one, that was old and rickety and probably a health and safety hazard, but it was  _his,_ his and Armin's and they had played in it almost every day. It had been the backdrop to their childhood, their safe place, and she'd taken it and now she was building a new one instead and Eren didn't think he had ever hated anyone so much in his life. He tried to stand up, to run over and kick the boxes, tear every part of that stupid new treehouse to sheds, but stopped when he felt a cool hand on his shoulder.

"You shouldn't do that," said a girl's voice. Eren looked up into dark eyes that straight-up said they knew more than him. Not like Armin. Armin knew more than you, yes, and his eyes showed you, but he knew that. This girl, Mikasa Ackerman, didn't know that. It was an intrinsic wisdom that filled her from top to bottom. She could have been as naive as Eren, but she still knew more and always would. He'd always say that that was the first thing he noticed about her. Those eyes that just knew more.

"I can do whatever I want," Eren growled, and pushed her hand away. She was taller than him. He hated her even more.

"Are you okay?" she asked, and Eren saw that even though her eyes knew more, they were concerned too. They probably knew that he hated her, though they didn't know why, but they were worried about him anyway.

"Yeah," he muttered. Now that he was standing in front of her, Eren didn't know what to say. They weren't separated by rows of lockers or the length of a corridor. There were no crowds of primary school pupils in between, no other faces Eren could use to reassure himself that she probably hadn't seen his glares. She was next to him,  _touching_ him. He felt his heart beating very fast. Blood rushed to his cheeks and stained them redder than Mikasa's scarf.

"You should probably sit down," Mikasa said, "It's okay, I know what to do. I'm going to be a doctor."

A  _doctor._ Eren slumped down at the foot of the tree, unable to argue with a voice like that, and laughed despite himself. A  _doctor._ Mikasa Ackerman wanted to be a doctor, just like Eren's dad. He should have known. She was just perfect, wasn't she? Captain of the football team, captain of the tennis team, liked by everyone, they all thought she was pretty, everyone wanted to be her friend, they thought her tentative shyness was cute, the teachers loved her, and where was Eren, huh? He couldn't even geton the tennis team, he was a reserve for the football, the teachers said he tried hard but his grades needed work, he needed to stop fighting other students, he needed to work on his attitude, he needed to learn respect, control himself, do this that and the other. And there was Mikasa, wanting to be a  _doctor._

He should have hated her even more.

"Here you go!" 

Eren looked up to see Mikasa running out of her house, face slightly flushed, shoulder-length hair blowing in the wind, absurd scarf flapping alongside it, and God, she looked so  _pretty._ Eren suddenly became aware of the sweat coating him, the fact that his face was probably the same colour as a cherry and that his hair was sticking up like a mad scientist. He clenched his fists, and stiffened as he felt Mikasa press a cool cloth to his forehead, bringing it away stained with red. She was frowning a little, tongue sticking out as she concentrated.

"My parents are out, so I can't get you any painkillers, but it shouldn't hurt too much. If you feel any kind of dizziness or nausea or anything then you might have concussion and should probably talk to your dad. He is a doctor, isn't he?"

"Oh! Um, yeah, he is. Um, hey..." Eren trailed off, biting his lip, "What are those boxes for?"

"Those?" Mikasa sounded surprised, "Well, my parents took down that old treehouse, because they thought it wasn't safe, but at the time I was really sad, so they said they'd buy me a new one for my birthday. They forgot about it for ages, though, and I'm kind of too old for it..."

"Oh. Right. The old one was nice. I used to play in it with my friend."

Eren didn't know why he'd told her that. Maybe it was because her hands were soft and cool or because when she smiled she dimpled slightly or because that scarf she always wore was so silly or because he was only now realising that he was the biggest idiot ever have to lived in these parts except for Jean.

"Oh," Mikasa said, "I'm sorry. I didn't know they were having it taken down."

"That's okay," Eren said. It actually was. He didn't know why, but he wasn't angry anymore. He'd still miss it, of course. It had been his childhood, after all, though that was still technically going on. But he didn't think he was sad about it. 

"You could come over and play in the new one some time. You could bring Armin. He's your friend, isn't he?"

"Yeah," Eren said, "Okay. If my mum lets me."

Mikasa laughed, "Of course she will! She's been wanting you to be friends with me for ages."

Eren nodded. He could see that. Mikasa reached down and offered Eren a hand. He hesitated for a little bit, longer than necessary, and Mikasa's hand started to drop back to her side before his darted up and took it. It lingered there, an entire minute ticking by, and Eren felt timeless - oh so timeless, he could have sat there on the rough ground on a hot day with his head throbbing forever just holding that hand, soft and cool. And then the moment was gone, and Mikasa, stronger than she looked, far stronger, had pulled Eren to his feet and let go of his hand. Neither of them looked at each other, faces a lot redder than they had been, hands very deliberately by their sides. _  
_

"Um...I should go and put my bike away," Eren muttered.

"Okay," Mikasa said, "I'll...I'll go and put the cloth back."

"Okay."

They looked at each other for a little bit, neither really wanting to look away. Eren drank in Mikasa's face for the first time, taking in every corner, every fold and dimple and blemish. She looked at him just the same way. And then they both dropped their gazes and hurried inside, saying not a word to each other for the rest of the night, or the next day, or the next, but the dirty looks and the anger were gone and in their place was just...silence, heavy and awkward, but it was a lot better than nothing at all.

* * *

The next Friday, Eren brought Armin over. Mikasa had tripped him over one day after class; he'd been about to yell at whoever it was until he saw it was her and she slipped a crumpled piece of paper into his hand. She walked away without a word.

Eren opened up the note in the bathroom during lunch, eyes skimming over the words, once, twice, three times, making sure he'd read them correctly.  _If you want to come over to the treehouse on Friday, drop your red pencil by my desk after lunch._ Red. Like his bike, like the blood on his forehead, like Mikasa's scarf, like their faces that day. He'd always liked the colour. Eren didn't know why it made him so happy, to get a note from Mikasa, to be invited to the house next door, where he'd played day after day with Armin before she'd arrived. Waves of euphoria washed over him.

The prospect made him so dizzy he'd almost forgotten to drop the pencil, but halfway through art he'd picked up his sharpener and pretended to shake the shavings into the bin and on the way back it'd just so happened that he tripped over Mikasa's chair and dropped it beside her. She smiled, cheek puckering into that little dimple, and Eren had grinned back beside himself. He felt red rush through him. It was different to anything he'd ever felt before, something like bravery and joy and excitement and love and euphoria all bundled into one. If the feeling had had a colour, it would have been the colour of Mikasa's scarf.

Eren almost chickened out, so he brought Armin along. The tension of being alone with Mikasa would have been unbearable. Armin would keep him steady, stop him from drifting away in a tide of red. 

The day came, and Eren found himself extra self-conscious getting ready that morning. He spent an entire minute on his hair, giving up on it in the end, and wearing his special red shirt, just for Mikasa. It was just because they were friends, though, nothing more. Carla Jaeger smiled to herself. Mr Ackerman had popped over the day earlier, checking that it really was okay for Eren to come over. She'd always known Mikasa Ackerman was special.

School was a blur, really, of long division and _I Am David_ and football and sandwiches. Eren saw red pencils everywhere. He could barely contain himself until the bell rang, and he ran over to Mikasa, whose hair was shinier than usual and who was wearing a pretty pink dress that had little birds by the hem. Armin was always neat and always wearing button-down blue shirts and khaki shorts and trouser braces, but his eyes were a little brighter than they had been. A moment ruled by destiny - not chance, not this time, because the three of them were meant to be together, Eren felt it with all the conviction of a child. The treehouse was just the background. If they had been drawn in a picture, the backdrop would have been blurred out, tinged with scarlet, maybe, but the three of them would be as sharp and clear as words on a page. It could never be any way else. 

* * *

It was only when they were fourteen that he plucked up the courage to ask.

"Hey, Mikasa...what's with the scarf?"

Mikasa looked at him, "What about it?"

"Well, it's just...doesn't it get really hot? I mean, you wear it all the time, even in summer. Don't you ever want to take it off?"

"No. It was my grandmother's."

"Oh."

Eren hadn't asked about it again, but when he found Mikasa crying, her neck so very pale in the moonlight, he bought her a new one. She smiled, and he hugged her, and they stayed like that for a while, just staring up at the sky. He never saw her neck bare again.

* * *

Eren and Mikasa changed. Slowly, over time, ever so imperceptibly, until one day the two of them realised that they were no longer blushing children and something different, richer and stronger and above anything else, wholly complete. They never kissed though, never made a move. Mikasa went out with Jean for a while, and they were the toast of Shiganshina Secondary, and everybody wanted to be them, because Mikasa and Jean were popular and everybody liked them. Eren experimented. He dated Sasha, for a couple of weeks, and then Jean once he and Mikasa broke up, and had a thing with Krista - which severely soured his relationship with Ymir for the entire duration - and even kissed Armin, once. People said that once you were lovers you could never go back to friends, but none of his one-night stands or flings with anyone had ever really altered anything. They were still friends, still a bunch so tight-knit it was hard to separate them for anything. Besides, none of them had ever really been his  _lovers._ Not properly, not really.

Eren had never known anything was missing until the kiss in the rain. 

College was hard. He didn't know anyone there, and he didn't know what he was doing with his life and sometimes he just wanted to scream against the harshness of it all. Connie and Sasha were together, and Jean had finally settled down - with Armin of all people - and Ymir and Krista had been dating since third year and never once looked back, and Eren was alone. So alone, just him against the world and Mikasa was gone; Mikasa, raven-haired and with those eyes that just _knew_ , and that red scarf, and he hated how he was so stupid and so, so alone. _  
_

She found him in the park. It was autumn, the wet kind, leaves scattered over the ground and the sky crying over trees that were shedding their coats like old promises. Eren had long since lost his love for the weather in which he'd first saw Mikasa, the weather in which a year later they'd become friends. Now he liked the rain and the sense that it was covering you, blocking out the rest of the world so that you didn't have to deal with your problems. Usually it smelled old, though. Today was fresh, the droplets washing away the cobwebs in his brain.

He saw the red scarf first, the fabric like a beacon all the way from the past. Memories swirled around him and Eren ran, ran all the way over to her, and for the first time in years he felt the red feeling, waves of crimson euphoria breaking over him, around him, through him. Mikasa smiled at him, and he ran into her arms. 

She still knew more than him. He saw it in those eyes, felt it in the arms that gripped him like a vice.

"I missed you," he whispered, hands wrapping through her hair. It was shorter than he'd last seen, like a curtain instead of a wave.

"I missed you too," she whispered back. Hesitantly, her hands left his sides and moved towards his face. Cool palms cupped Eren's cheeks, fingers working in slow circles. He looked at her, into those dark eyes, and brought his lips to hers. They kissed there in the rain, but it was a kiss washed in memories, echoing through time. It was a kiss that meant more than any other Eren had ever shared with anyone. He didn't know what to call it, but if the kiss had had a colour, it would have been red.


End file.
